As the storm began to quiet, I took Lenore and we walked up the hill. I often bring Rose, but it is almost sinful to leave a Lab behind in the snow, they love it so much. And Lenore is nothing but a joy to be with, thrilled to see everyone and everything. A few years ago, I did not believe I could walk up my hill – I never did.  I was in pain, hobbled, thought I might need a cane. Now, I walk up it two or even three times a day, and I love it more each time, even in heavy snow.  It hurts every now and then, but not much.

Plato cautioned that physicians can’t treat the body without treating the soul, and every day I see that this is so. My soul was broken, and my body followed. I am healing every day. I cherish my walks, and they always begin at the Studio Barn, where I check in on Maria, who is always hard at work on her quilts, potholders, or other fiber magic. I’ve never seen anyone love a place more than she loves the Studio Barn, or make it their own as thoroughly. The Studio Barn is how we got together. She was an artist without a place to work, and I had a barn with water and heat, so I offered it to her. Mostly, she came and went at night, and I rarely saw her. Once in awhile, we talked long into the night – I brought popcorn and sat while Frieda growled at me and plotted how to eat me alive. The rest, well the rest is the rest…More chapters on the walk coming.

I always take a photo of Maria to begin the walk, and Lenore understands this now, and sits by the road until I am done, and then we charge up the hill together, as a man and his dog should in a storm.

I have little use for people who tell me what I can’t or can do at “our age.” At “our age” I moved upstate, bought a farm, lambed, and wrote six books at last count. The body goes its own way, but I don’t permit anyone to tell me where I am at life,